Trust and Betrayal
by talchi
Summary: All Morwen ever wanted to do was to find and kill the orcs who took away her father. Instead, she got drunk daily, until she met the kind young prince, who was himself just as conflicted.
1. Chapter 1

**Morwen**

My name is Morwen, the name my mother pronounced at her death and my birth, signifying Dark Lady. It was a simple name for a simple child. I chose to believe long ago that it was because of my dark hair, and not the ramblings of my mother, barely conscious.

For my people, darkness was a part of our lives as day by day, our forests spawned more danger and fright. The change was barely seen, though our senses felt it clearly enough – it was like watching the sun move. Greenwood had once been alive with mirth. It was now becoming a dark haven for everything that we despised.

It claimed many lives. Spiders grew ever larger, breeding within themselves, creating nightmares that haunted me at night. Yrch dared to roam our paths. When I was still very little, my father was captured by a band of these. I was very, very young then, but I listened carefully to the shouts and curses as the soldiers fled into the safety of our walls. My father was not with them.

I was taken to our king. Perhaps, believing that I should have been spared the horror of reality, he simply told me that my father had been taken captive by a band of orcs.

"Orcs. Yrch. Goblins," I said diligently, repeating my knowledge.

A pained expression came over his face. My caretaker let out a muffled sob. The good king should have told me what they did to captives, because that day, a desperate hope bloomed inside of me. I was confident that one day, I would rescue him and meet my father with open arms.

It wasn't that I didn't grieve – it was just that I couldn't understand the concept of death. After all, I never knew my mother, and Father wasn't dead, only captive. What is death to the Eldar, who are immortal?

**Legolas**

Spring is always a time to celebrate. It's the only time that the entire village gathers itself into the forest to drink, laugh, and dance. I'd been eagerly awaiting the start of this spring's festival. Now that the day was here, I instead found myself in a tree, high up, with the wide green canopy a rolling sea around me.

The tops of the trees were spider-free, even of the little white ones that numbered by the millions. This in itself lifted my mood. The new leaves gave off a newborn smell, like a baby, except more green. I felt that I could lie back on the leaves and they would support me; I could probably talk to the wind and it would answer. The sky was a brilliant blue, so clear it almost hurt my eyes.

It had just rained, but the earthy smell of wet dirt didn't penetrate the dense leaves.

I had been lying here most of the day, and my senses were alive with the cleansing that the rain had brought to our forest. Everything was _growing_; reaching up as high as it could, trying to escape from its roots. Eventually though, I slipped down the trunk and ran off to join my village.

**Morwen,**

"And this one?" someone asked. He was tall, even for me, with broad shoulders. I recognized him as one of the guards of the king. He handed me a bottle.

I examined the label. I flipped it over, picking lightly at the red wax seal. "May I open it?" I asked. Guards were paid well, and I was rather eager to taste this wine. Besides, that was my job.

He frowned, nodded.

"Ah," I said, smiling. I couldn't help it. I wasn't a drunkard, but the heavy, sweet, aroma of wine made me stupid and kind. "This one, I believe, was bottled in…" I swished it around in my mouth. "…In Rivendell. Very rare. And expensive."

"That's stated on the label, Morwen."

"What? Oh, I know." I giggled. He didn't react.

Time to straighten up, I told myself. I cleared my mind. "From its taste, I'd say that the fruits were harvested in… late summer. Rivendell, if I remember correctly, has only three small farms that do this. They are not all together, due to certain rivalries, and situated at different points. This one was from..." I paused, and took another drink. "The southern farm. That one is smaller than its counterpoints, but produces a unique type of wine. They've actually added the most delicate touches of some sort of fruit. I think, apple, into the flavour. It's very subtle."

Well, that raised an eyebrow. "What did you buy it for?" I asked. "A special dinner?"

The story he told me was long and complicated. I was surprised he didn't just ignore me. I gave some advice that I myself wouldn't have followed. At the end, he stood up, very tall. Smiled, even, and handed me a single golden coin.

Others soon came, and I became steadily drunk.

In the middle of choking on a swallow from a particularly expensive bottle, I felt a heavy hand clamp down on my shoulder. I looked up.

"Don't you think that's enough wine for tonight?" said my sister. Stepsister. After my father's capture, they'd taken me in. At first I'd told them, and myself, that it would be temporary. Father would be back soon enough.

But I'd remained with them for over two hundred years since that fateful day in the King's cold court.

Despite protests from many people, including me, she dragged me away and practically hurled me into the shade under a tree. "Stay there," she ordered. I did, and I slept off the wine.

When I awoke, dusk had fallen. The sky was tinged with ribbons of pink, blue, and deep purple. A little bit of orange, as well, but mainly, darkness was beginning to settle in. I shivered. The coldness as well. This year's spring was colder than usual. And the rains had chilled our formerly balmy temperature. Wind whipped around my face and bit into my arms and neck.

Suddenly, I felt my neck prickle. I looked up. With dusk, the dancing had begun, at least in earnest. White bulbs of lanterns were strung very few feet. Fires roared at the edge of our clearing. And grim warriors paced its paths. I could see Elle, my sister, dancing in a middle of a circle. She was the picture of motion; fluidity, the wind itself, light from the moon. Her long dark hair seemed to slide around her.

Pale skin and long limbs.

I scanned the crowd, until I saw a pair of sharp eyes looking straight at me. Ah. It was the young prince, barely older than myself. He was the subject of much gossip. What surprised me was that he was walking towards me, quickly, directly.

In his hands, almost cradled there, was a bottle of wine.

**Legolas**

The moment I arrived, my father's counselor pounced on me.

"My _lord_," he whispered frantically. He had a habit of accentuating certain words. "Why are you not wearing what I laid out for you today?"

He looked me over, and began slapping off pieces of greenery.

"It's alright," I said, pushing him off. "Father will –"

I was dragged to my father, who was sitting on a throne of dark wood and inlaid gold. A crown of thistles was clutched in his hand. He looked dull.

"You should go dance, you know," he said, upon seeing me. He smiled. Waved me away.

The counselor pressed his lips together but otherwise looked prim.

**Morwen**

I scrambled up and curtsied, nearly toppling over with a sudden pain. The wine made my head feel as though there was a hammer pounding my brain to little grey pieces.

It was always exciting to meet royalty, and I was afraid my first impression was going badly.

"Lady," he said, steadying me. "If you are unwell, you should return home and lie down."

"That's alright," I said. I looked pointedly at the bottle in his hands. "Do you…?"

"Oh," he said. "Do you see this? I would like you to tell me exactly where it came from. My friends sent it to me. They are from Rivendell."

Another one, I thought. I was surprised at his manner and speech. His voice was soft and firm, with none of the regal steel that I heard often when the King spoke. And he could barely be older than me. I saw, however, a curious intensity about him, almost vibrating around his person. Blue blood, I supposed.

"Of course," I said, with politeness bordering on the obscene. I drank; I talked for a long time; and then he said –

"My advisor told me you were especially capable of this." He smiled a strange half-smile.

"Ah well," I said modestly. "I've heard that you are prodigious with the bow and arrow." We were now sitting on the grass, still by the shade of the tree. Night had now truly fallen; I was nervous. Shadows seemed alive, creeping upon everything, and I wanted to go closer the fire.

"My father insists that I practice daily. The forest… is not always safe."

"Yes," I smiled. Or tried to smile. "I would know."

He looked surprised.

"My father was taken by wandering orcs when I was small. I believed that he would come back, but he never did. It was the King who told me Father's fate." I hoped he wouldn't feel that I was being impertinent.

I chanced a look into his eyes and saw compassion so real that a single tear slipped down my cheek, unbidden.

**Legolas**

I spotted her sleeping in a heap on the ground. They told me that she was sometimes sober, and usually drunk.

She woke up just as I skirted around the dancers to reach her, and she looked at me with dark, ironic eyes, as if she was saying, _I know I look like a fool_.

As it happened, she was really quite knowledgeable about wines. When she told me about her father, I didn't know what to say. She'd spoke in a light, easy tone, with plenty of smiles, but I could see guilt and shame, and anger. She looked at me with defiant eyes.

I invited her and her family to dinner with my father and I. What could I do? I'd done such things before. Young maidens, older widows, the crippled – they were all worthy of pity and healing.

**Morwen**

That night ended with another long sleep. I woke up the next morning to find myself in my bed, my proper bed. My head felt alright, and I dressed quickly to find everyone assembled in the sitting room.

"How are you doing? _What_ are you doing?" I demanded, seeing that they were crowded around my mother. Well, caretaker.

She waved her arms cheerfully, holding a piece of paper with the royal seal. "We're invited to the King's mansion! Thranduil!" She laughed.

Oh yes. I remembered the prince saying something about that. Dinner, I thought. That's fine. But had there been pity in his face then? Yes. I hated pity. And I could already feel the first faint sizzles of anger in my stomach. Pity was worse then hate. And I knew plenty about both.

That evening, dressed and primped, we stood before the king's door. "Oh," she sighed. "This really is incredible."

Eruanna smiled at me. She was wearing a very beautiful dress, one that had certainly cost mother much time and money. It was white throughout, inlaid, somehow, with delicate silver so that it shone. The dress was long and sweeping, grand and worthy of praise. I can't say I wasn't jealous.

We were shown into the enormous dining room. The aide, or the servant, hurried us out of it just as quickly. I caught sight of a pair of green-yellow eyes flashing at me before a slim form turned and hurried away.

The food was excellent. The conversation was slightly awkward but soon became normal, if you could call it normal. The King had barely changed since all those years ago when he'd told me my father's fate. He wore deep green and very rich gold. His son had on nearly the same outfit. They were polite and not unbearable, and the humorous, sometimes.

Prince Legolas caught my eyes a few times, but that was all. I soon excused myself.

Upon leaving the small room where we'd had dinner, I found myself in a rich corridor, lined with paintings and treasures. They said the King loved his gold; they were right. I wandered slowly, quickening now and then as I passed a servant. I was looking, in fact, for the weaponry room.

I passed denizens of doors; troves of treasure, stacks of superb paintings, but I still could not find it. I was about to return when I felt a light hand on my arm.

I jumped and spun around, stifling a cry. It was the prince. His blue eyes were blazing with suspicion.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, angry. I was frightened. Ashamed. I stuttered and burned with humiliation. But I could not say anything.

His gaze softened. "Were you lost?"

"In a manner of speaking," I said quietly, lowering my eyes. "I was looking for your weaponry room. I… I'm sorry for my deception."

But I wasn't. "I wanted… to find a sword. Something sharp. My parents don't own anything of the sort."

He was silent. Suddenly he took off, his long legs carrying him faster than I could manage. I trotted beside him like a mongrel.

He flung open an iron-bolted door.

"Leave."

The servant left, leaving us alone, shutting the door behind him. I looked around, at the torches lit in brackets around the enormous stone room that was divided in sections. On one wall was a phenomenal collection of swords.

It was these that he took one now, and tossed one to me, handle first. It clattered to the floor and I picked it up in time to block his blow. My hand skittered. His strength was extraordinary! He was poised perfectly, graceful, almost dancing, forcing me against the wall, blow by blow.

His sword was on my throat, while mines lay on the floor a few feet from us, dropped. Just as suddenly he lowered it, and began to laugh. It was a low laugh, but full of mirth and not unkind.

"You are as graceful as a charging ox," he said, finally. My temper flared, and I straightened up. I pushed him away, registering my foolish actions too late with horror. My prince! I'd pushed the royalty. Our heir!

"Oh dear!" I fluttered to him, and made a fuss as was expected. I apologized over and over again, noting with embarrassment the amusement on his face.

"You are forgiven," he said, formally ending my pleas of atonement. He looked thoughtful now. "You know, Morwen, when I first saw you, I felt pity. Then understanding. And now…"

And he said no more. But he looked me up and down.

"I hope I was gentle with you. I wanted to test your sincerity."

By nearly cutting me in two and then insulting me? Well. Royalty had their ways. "Yes, my lord. I understand."

He laughed again and waved at the wall behind him. "Take your pick."

So I did. He helped me, and in the end I picked a light, fairly new one. It gleamed silver, flickering in the light of the torches. I was pleased. The prince had made me laugh. More than once.

"I think we should return to my father now," he suggested gently, as I stood admiring my new sword.

"Oh! But I have to pay you for this marvelous gift!"

He waved my words away, frowning. "There is no need."

Just as we were leaving, I stopped. He turned around. "Will you teach me?" I blurted out, unthinking.

He thought for a moment. "Alright," he said at length. And then: "Thank you."

"For what?" I asked, puzzled.

"You've just complimented me."

I stared. "I suppose I have. And _thank you_ for taking the care to teach me."

"I didn't say that."

Oops. I was being too impatient again. "But you said –"

"I _suppose_ I shall… if you insist." And with that, and a wickedly condescending pat on the arm, he led the way back to the dining room.


	2. Chapter 2

And oft, when the summer shone hot  
On the new-mown hay in the meadow lot,  
And she heard the little spring brook fall  
Over the roadside, through the wall,  
In the shade of the apple-tree again  
She saw a rider draw his rein,  
And, gazing down with a timid grace,  
She felt his pleased eyes read her face.

Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls  
Stretched away into stately halls;  
The weary wheel to a spinnet turned,  
The tallow candle an astral burned;  
And for him who sat by the chimney lug,  
Dozing and grumbling o'er pipe and mug,  
A manly form at her side she saw,  
And joy was duty and love was law.  
Then she took up her burden of life again,  
Saying only, "It might have been!"

- "Maud Muller", J. G. Whittier

**Chapter 2**

I left the huge mansion in a state of horror. I didn't know what had come over me - I certainly hadn't been drunk! My sisters were curious and badgered me about my mysterious whereabouts at dinnertime. I could barely answer them. Every time I thought of it, I winced, cringed, shuddered at my own behaviour. I vowed never to look the King or his royal son in the face again. I didn't forget about his kindness to me, even after I was caught in his house, but I decided that was pity again. And the lessons were a whole other thing. I doubted that he would remember.

Months passed, and summer quickly exploded in a rush of heat and laughter. I'd occasionally see Legolas, and sometimes he would give me a quick smile or a short wave, but most of the time he'd look past me as if I wasn't there. It didn't bother me, though. When he was around, I'd duck and usually topple something in the process. Shame and my usual shyness kept me from acknowledging him.

In the month of July, my sister was married. I was busy with many chores and details. I got drunk less, even starting to avoid the drink, because I wanted to please Eruanna and I couldn't do it when I'd drunk so much that my stitches were crooked or when I tripped over nothing. I was busy, and I was happier than I'd been in years. My sister's friends and my extensive family (albeit adopted) came to our house. We spent most of our time on the enormous balcony.

Her lover was a shy one. I'd known him since I was very little, and I privately thought they were a strange match. Nevertheless, I was pleased for my sister, pleased for my parents, pleased for myself. No one averted their eyes anymore when wine was placed on the table, because I forced myself not to think about it. There were plenty of other things to think about, although it drained my willpower not to think about its rich taste.

Eventually, the day came, and Eruanna was fitted into her white gown for the last time. She looked wonderful, flushed and serene, alternating between giddy and thoughtful. My parents invited everyone - from the lowest maid to the highest nobles.

And they all came - weddings were rare occasions, as the last one had been nearly ten years ago. They were determined to make an impression.

The day would start with a bright morning, warm but not humid, with fine cool breezes and a clear blue sky. I was the last one left in the house, and I walked out slowly into the glade behind the stand of trees.

As I stood in the sun to the delicate music of harps and viols – I thought… it was, in my mind, that day, the only perfect day, the one that could never be described in words - that quality of it, the feelings that thrummed in my arms and fingers and heart - indescribable.

I was dressed in a fancier dress than usual - much fancier. I was to stand next to my sister and smile and look like the moon to the sun. Afterward there would be the normal ceremony, feast (my parents had set up nearly 30 tables, end on end), and then the celebration would continue well into the night.

I'd made a promise to myself that morning. If I could keep free of the drink this night, then I would never touch it again. If Eruanna had a child, (and I was certain she would) - wouldn't I want that child to think of me in pride, rather than shame?

But problems arose quickly. It started as Father took her hand and placed it in Arphenion's hands. Up until now, I'd just taken Eruanna's word for it - love was wonderful, and being in love even more so. But really, who cared about love? I certainly didn't - love was only to care for your family, to respect them, to mourn them when they left you, to hate the ones who took them away. Seeing her face - already radiant and lovely, but seeing her eyes as they met Arphenion's sparkling – sparkling! Seeing the tears on my mother's face, the laugh lines on my father's... I began to feel angry.

My father would never give me away.

I reached slowly for the glass that was so tantalisingly close. My father was dead, his last moments a shriek and a blur of agony and defeat. I would probably never marry; never have children at my feet. I had no expensive dowry. My wedding gown would be simple linen and my bed would be of simple wood.

I downed the dark red wine quickly.

It was like taking a breath of fresh air, and realizing that I was sinking again, sinking into layers of confusion and stupidity. My head blurred - I barely felt the accusing glances of my family.

My father would never give me away. I was vain, shallow, but yet - I'd born in the wrong place, destined with the wrong fate. I -

"I've been watching you, you know," said a dry voice on my left. The prince plucked the glass from my hands and emptied it onto the grass.

I was too shocked for words. What was he doing here? I had a sudden urge to sink into the ground and never appear again. I felt as though a pot of icy water had been poured over my head. I emerged gasping for breath, with a flood of shame pouring into me. My sisters! My new brother! My parents... my family... my friends!

I'd done it again. I looked around. There was my sister, the new bride, standing next to her groom. I met her worried eyes briefly. There were my parents, flitting like butterflies among the nobles.

And there was the prince, looking at me with sobering disappointment.

"You know, drinking this much -" and he pointed to my mediocre cluster of empty bottles, "getting this drunk isn't healthy. I thought you wanted to learn to handle a sword."

What was I supposed to say to that? It was true, but hearing it from someone so dignified made me angrier at myself. I settled with a murmur that barely disguised the rage I felt for myself: "Yes, my lord."

He'd been kneeling next to me, his legs folded over, balancing marvelously. Now he stood up. I couldn't see his face.

I thought of my sister's unborn child. In the days before, I'd had brief fantasies of playing with the baby. I'd imagined it would be a boy, a charming clear-eyed thing, laughing and plump.

"Wait," I said. "You're right. I do want to learn." I swallowed. I cringed inwardly - this was beyond embarrassing for me. I hated apologizing sincerely - unless it was silently, in my own mind, where no one could hear me. I wasn't about to fall into tears or start with a monologue about my troubles and self-pity.

"I practiced, you know." I tried to smile. "Chopping vegetables. It really is sharp."

He looked as though he didn't know whether to grimace or smile.

In the end he laughed. At that point my sister waved for me frantically and I stood up, with numerous apologies and the best curtsies I could manage. He said, "As long as you keep free of that," and I knew what me meant. I looked down. "I'll help you with your new sword."

We both laughed, a little harder than his joke deserved. I scurried away.

The next week was spent cleaning up; doing the chores that would need to be done now that Eruanna was gone. One night, exhausted from pulling the lecherous weeds that grew in our garden, I collapsed close to the fire. The bell rang, and I sprang up, curious. Who would be calling so late?

It turned out to be a rather young elfling. He handed me a piece of paper and disappeared into the night.

"Wait! Who are you?" I called, but I couldn't see him anymore. I looked at the paper. It had the royal seal and looked quite lovely. At the bottom there was a messy scrawl that I took quite some time in deciphering. In the end I decided it read, _I hope you have kept your promise_. And that was all.

That night I slept soundly. The next morning I woke and dragged myself to the market. I was inspecting a bushel of apples that I'd bought very closely (having just spotted a worm) when I saw him.

"Hello, your highness!" I called, and waved to him. He came over. "I got your message," I said brightly. "And, yes, I have been drink-free ever since the wedding."

So somehow it was arranged that I would spend a little time with him. It was still nearly a week before I could see him, though, and I at last found myself hurrying along the paved paths in his garden, wiping my sword of plant-juice and dirt.

I spotted him easily in the bright sunlight.

"Shall we start?" I asked demurely. And so we did. I felt flattered and foolish that the prince - a person of royalty - was actually helping me, a soldier's daughter. All in all, however, I was battered by the time half an hour had passed.

"A rest!" I gasped, and sat down heavily on a large stone. He came and sat beside me, some ways apart. Since it was a very heavy silence, I asked, "Does your father teach you? I noticed you are very good."

He shifted. Smiled rather distantly. "My father emphasizes using the bow and arrow. He is always aware of the dangers that could... befall me."

"Ah… in the forest, you mean." A sudden curiosity struck me. "Are there spiders living in it? I've heard they're half as tall as any healthy guard."

He nodded, rather grimly. "Yes. They're repulsive. I'll never forget the first time I killed one. Those pincers and their foul speech..."

And he paused, looking beyond me.

I hesitated, feeling as though I were intruding on him, overstepping my boundaries. I had actually come to admire him. He was a very, very kind individual. He'd laughed and poked fun at me, but he either had a very hard time covering up his feelings or was doing it on purpose – I could tell he was helping out of curiosity – of pity, and wondering.

In truth, I was abashed, and I didn't like the feeling at all. For the first time I considered him from a female point of view. He stood there, not breathing hard at all, even though I was panting like an old wind machine, tall and straight, with youth still mixed with something darker and just emerging. I blushed and looked down.

"What?" he asked, concerned. "What is it?"

"Nothing," I lied.


End file.
